


i know that you got daddy issues

by senseof_Hygge



Series: sex don't sleep when the lights are off [1]
Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Cock Slut, Cock Warming, Confessional Sex, Dirty Talk?, M/M, Mentions of Murder, PWP, Unbeta'd, demon sh, please do not ready if youre religious because this is... fucked up, priest yj, which one is the cock slut? yes <3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:02:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26820001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/senseof_Hygge/pseuds/senseof_Hygge
Summary: Youngjo is a priest with sinful desires.  Seoho is the demon that feeds.
Relationships: Kim Youngjo | Ravn/Lee Seoho
Series: sex don't sleep when the lights are off [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1985176
Comments: 10
Kudos: 53





	i know that you got daddy issues

**Author's Note:**

> i m so sorry. theres a mention of seoho getting fucked when he was 'younger' and i just want to say that it was NOT underaged sex, just an allusion to his earlier years before he sold his soul to the devil~

It comes for him in the cloudiness of dreams: hot puffs of breath against his neck, a warm body pressed against him, tantalizing in the way a tongue drags along the scruff of his cheek, holds him gently, and he could not want for anything else.

Some nights are worse than others; it comes for him with an aggressive hand, snaking up his spine and counting his ribs before squeezing its way into his chest and settling in as if it was meant to be there all along. He tries not to think of the way his heart stutters in his chest, the way his cock fills pitifully in the darkness, the way he shivers unbidden when his lust settles over every crevice of him like skin.

He tries not to think past the way he ruts against his mattress like a bitch in heat and groans with how much he _likes_ it.

When nights are whisper-quiet, sleep finds him dutifully but the dreams that follow on its tails are sinfully sweet, images of soft hands against bare skin, brazen want so palpable on the back of his tongue that when he jerks awake he still tastes it, chasing it dumbly in the haziness of his consciousness coming to. He tries not to think about the disappointment that he carries with him during his services that day.

Sometimes the feeling is so unbearable that Youngjo grips his necklace tight in his hands and prays until he loses sense of time. The passage of time falls inconsequential to the words falling from his lips when he does so, thinking desperately of his duties to the people who need him, to the church that houses and feeds him, to the God he prays to now. He begs for his wants to leave him clear-headed and practical; they leave bruises on his knees and keep him awake fighting the urge to press into them with his shaking fingers.

In the morning, he presses his shame close to his heart and dresses with haste, movements mechanical when he makes his way to lead prayers, words falling from his lips like the flow of a river, crisp, clear, refreshing, chasing the height of his lord’s power with the promise of being a better person and staving off sin like he knows he should.

Someone in the pews catches his eyes, a new person presumably, with bitten-red lips pulled into a salacious smile. He eyes Youngjo like a starved man, bewitched, following his every movement like a shadow to man. He fights the shudder that runs up his spine and the heart that licks at his belly as they pass each other afterward, curious, fox-like eyes peering up at Youngjo before he leaves with the throng of people, piling outside once service ends.

Behind the curtains of his confession booth later that day, Youngjo waits for his usual penitents, though somewhere deep inside he has a feeling the man from earlier will show as well. So he waits with bated breath, listens to an older woman’s confessions of her wandering eyes unto other women, watches with disinterest as she plays with the ring on her finger, absolves her of her sins and sends her away. A young man joins the fray shortly after and talks about his untoward feelings for his own mother, a lovely woman with a silver-laden tongue and a penchant for bedwarming, another young man who dreams of sodomy with an open tongue and blissed out sighs; Youngjo takes it all in.

By the time unfamiliar footfalls sound against the marble of the grounds, Youngjo is tired, bone-deep and groaning at having to sit in this treacherous wooden seat for so long, though, he’s not quite sure what he groans about.

The man who enters opposite him is the one from earlier, new and excited, bright-eyed and so, so tempting in a way that has Youngjo salivating. He smiles like he knows it when Youngjo makes a cross with shaking hands and parted lips. Youngjo tries not to ponder too much beyond that.

“Bless me Father, I have sinned, this is my first confession.” his voice is smooth and light, mirthful despite where he sits.

“Yes, my child, what is your name? What do you admit to?”

“Lee Seoho, Father, and I am a bad, bad person.” he grins through his words, tongue peeking out from behind a set of even teeth. Seoho leans forward, bracing himself against the latticework that separates them, “You see Father, I sold my soul to the devil for some good fun. Spent a few decades wandering this fucking place wondering where my next victim would be hiding and spitting their bones out when I’m done playing with them.”

Youngjo takes as steadying a breath as he can manage, not sure he can trust his voice, feeling just the tiniest hints of fear prickling at the back of his neck like a whisper.

“Should I admit to my other crimes as well, Father?” Seoho coos, leans away from Youngjo’s space and back into his proper seat. Youngjo lets his shoulders sag in relief before the barrage of words pick up again.

“I love the taste of cock,” he giggles, nonchalant as if he were not baring his deepest secrets, "the way it fattens in my mouth, the way it sits on my tongue," Seoho moans a little, hands stroking up and down his thighs as he speaks, "I love everything about sucking cock. I wish I had one in my mouth right now, Father, do you know that?"

Youngjo watches with rapt attention and keen awareness as Seoho's fingers play with the inseam of his worn pants, dancing along the outline of his cock, tries to will the blood from filling his own cock in interest.

"I'm sure you do… after all, Father, we are cut from the same cloth, aren't we?"

All too soon, Seoho stops, sitting upright and hands slack on his lap, legs crossed, the image of a perfect church-goer, save for the grin on his face.

"I don't need to be absolved of my sins," Seoho says by way of parting, throwing a look over his shoulder, eyes dark under fanned lashes, "I hold my own place in Hell now."

The confessions stun Youngjo more than anything, even going beyond the strangeness of his start, the words ring too clear in his head as he kneels in prayer that night. _Cut from the same cloth_ , Seoho had said, so sure-tongued and gleeful. They are not, Youngjo is a pious man; he prays to the Lord for forgiveness, he does not delve into his fantasies, he does not give in no matter how hot the fire burns. Though he knows, the shamed part of him knows, that as he kneels in prayer, hands clasped together in furious desperation for enlightenment, he cannot help but think of the taste of cock on his tongue, the weight of it on his lips, the scent of musk spreading to his head.

Seoho comes again in the days that follow and sits in the back row of pews, attention undivided as he stares at Youngjo, though he doubts the intentions are pure. Time passes by syrupy-slow, dragging on as Youngjo once again leads prayers and tries to slow the words that his lips form, tries to find comfort in what he says but they ring back in his ears hollowly.

When the vixen in the skin of a man finds him later that day, the confession booth seems all too small, Youngjo fits inside just fine he knows this, but everything in him shakes and stirs with something wanton need as Seoho sits down, prim and proper in a way that Youngjo knows him not to be. He finds it hard to breathe, with such treacherous feline eyes staring through him.

“Bless me, Father,” Seoho starts again, grin cheshire and blissful, “I have sinned, it has been less than a day since my last confession.”

“Lee Seoho,” Youngjo whispers like a secret. The name tastes venomously sweet on his lips. “Why come to me when you do not wish to be pardoned for your sins?”

“Oh Father,” he giggles in reply, parted lips hiding behind a beautiful, beautiful hand, “I confess because I can, I can’t be pardoned because I’m not exactly human... but you already thought so, didn't you?”

And for the first time, Youngjo looks, really looks at him. From his sharp eyes, glowing a little too unnaturally, the sharpness of his teeth poking into his lower lip, the softness around him, hazy even in broad daylight. Youngjo shakes with something akin to fear and something else entirely.

“What…” he swallows, thick and heady as he presses his legs together, “what are you?”

“I killed a man last night.” Seoho confesses instead of answering, “He had your eyes.”

When he leaves, he steals away with Youngjo’s breath too.

The sight of soiled sheets is far too familiar these days, Youngjo thinks groggily as he rises from bed, aching with a foreign emptiness that he resolutely does not ponder on. Last night he’d succumbed to something primal within, had rutted his cock against the mattress until he spilled and bitten his fist until it bore a perfect imprint of his teeth, a stark reminder of the sins he’d committed. Humiliation churns deep in his stomach but does little to stymie the arousal that rises up again when he remembers the ghost of unknown hands trailing up his spine and wrapping around his neck, presence barely there but weight heavy all the same.

Seoho finds him again.

“I spread my legs for an older man when I was younger.” Seoho says one day, hands palming himself unabashedly through his pants. He looks through his lashes at Youngjo, smile splitting impossibly wider when he sees Youngjo staring back unblinkingly at the hand. “He was the one who showed me the pleasures of the flesh you know. He taught me how to suck his cock just right, how to cradle his balls in my mouth, how to suckle on the tip and drink his seed until I couldn’t think anymore.”

“Seoho…”

“Then one day he had me. Threw my legs over his shoulders and played with my tight little hole until I came all over myself, then fucked his fat cock into me and sodomized me until I nearly passed out. And I loved it, Father.” Seoho whispers sordidly, tongue peaking out between plush teeth as he grips his cock through his clothes, grinding his hips unashamedly into the friction, finds the audacity to giggle when Youngjo’s mouth parts in helpless little pants.

He leaves Youngjo unsettled, gasping not for air but something else, something that he finds difficult to deny ever since Seoho had crawled into his life, gripping him with no promise of death and leaving his days unfulfilling. Youngjo fears him more than he fears the wrath of God.

“Father,” Seoho whispers, as if tasting the title for the first time, “I killed another man last night.” he settles across Youngjo as natural as a breath, face partly obscured by the wooden lattice frame that separates them but he knows Seoho’s every feature, had burned it into his mind the last time he’d found carnal pleasures in his hand.

“Seoho, please, you need to stop this.”

“But Father, it was only for a little fun. He was so pretty you know, almost cried when I sucked on his cock. His laugh sounded like yours but he was an ugly crier, on his hands and knees begging for me to spare him, haha, so gross!”

“Your hatred is misplaced!” Youngjo whispers frantically, “You’re killing innocent people all because they look like me?!” he hisses the last word despite himself, worried that even through the lattice pattern, Seoho can see the sweat beading his forehead and unfocused eyes. Seoho stands up abruptly then, slamming himself against the partition with such force that it rattles and Youngjo flinches backward. The air is thick with a feeling unknown to him by word but still so strikingly intimate.

“No Father, I killed him because I felt like it.” Seoho confesses gleefully, eyes curving familiarly, “I fucked him because he looked like you.”

“Please Seoho,” he pants, “this is insanity! What would you have me do?!”

“Oh Father, I wish you’d asked me that weeks ago when I found you, it would have saved us so much time.” He croons, “I want you Father. Won’t you give yourself to me?”

“I am a priest.” Youngjo bites back, though there is no heat in his voice, “I have a vow of celibacy!”

“And how many times have you broken that vow, dear Father? I’ve no doubt you think about me every night, so which of those nights do you find pleasure fucking your own fist wishing it was my hand? Or do you maybe not use your hands, hm? Perhaps you think it’s less bad if you just hump your pillows instead like a teenager?” he chuckles meanly, eyes never straying from Youngjo, “Give yourself to me, Father, and I promise there won’t be anymore deaths because of you.”

Some part of Youngjo knows that he should ponder upon this more. That Seoho isn’t entirely human and that he could be lying through his pretty little teeth. Another, much bigger part of him, shamefully shakes at the thought of giving in, even if he tells himself it’s to save others.

“Do… you promise?” he asks slowly, words feeling heavy on his tongue, as he leans forward a little bit, shivering freely when Seoho laughs, head thrown back a little crazily,

“Yes, Father, you have my word.”

“...Okay.” he whispers, “Okay, what will you have me do?” he asks once more, though the words feel heavier now, somehow.

“Come here, Father. Come to me.”

Parting the curtain has never been such an arduous task, seconds ticking by too slow as Youngjo steps into Seoho’s side of the booth, trailing his eyes up his body so brazenly for the first time. Seoho’s broad, broader than Youngjo had taken him for, and stronger too when he pulls Youngjo closer and presses an open-mouth kiss to the side of his neck,

“On your knees for me now. Be a good boy and suck my cock, yeah?” he says softly, voice lulling as Youngjo tries as gracefully as he can to sink to his knees, breath coming in short, quick puffs as his hands find purchase in his robes to steady himself. Seoho’s hard, obviously so, with a delicious outline that leaves Youngjo salivating even though nothing has happened yet. He chances a look at Seoho from where he kneels, a silent beg for orders. Seoho grins salaciously as he nods once, lets Youngjo slowly unzip his pants, peeling away his boxers and letting his half-hardened cock be exposed.

Doesn’t need to think past the simple suck that Seoho mutters to him before Youngjo wraps his lips delicately around the wet head and swallowing around it, fighting the fluttering of his eyelashes at the musky taste spreading across his tongue. Seoho moans softly, hands carding through his hair almost affectionately and at the same time guiding him to take more of his length into his throat.

The stretch of his lips is foreign, in fact everything about this is foreign to him, but he still shivers when the cock hardens fully in his mouth, cutting off his airway and forcing him to breathe through his nose instead. Seoho jerks his hips in little circles, hands coming to cradle his balls as Youngjo works on his cock, eyes rolling back at a particularly hard suck.

“Oh Father,” he moans sweetly, words sticking together as he slurs between his pleasure, “your mouth feels so good you know that? One of these days I’ll make use of your pretty little mouth and fuck it until you can’t talk. I’ll even suckle on your cock while I do it, let you know how it feels to cum in a hot, waiting mouth.”

Youngjo tries presses a palm to his growing erection as he focuses on relaxing his throat and fighting back tears when Seoho thrusts a little too hard, tries not to think about how much he fucking enjoys it and failing miserably.

“One day I’ll sit on your cock too, tie you down to the bed and ride you until you’re coming so hard your balls will feel it for days,” he promises, movements uneven now as he keeps pumping his cock obscenely in and out of Youngjo’s mouth, “Then when your cock can’t take it anymore, I’ll fuck you ‘till you pass out and do it again and again and again.” The words falling from his lips like prayer should be shameful, sordid in the way he spits them out with aching and obvious want, these confessions far more venomous than anything else Seoho has ever said to him.

Yet shame does not find Youngjo, not when Seoho pants above him, hands now carding through his hair sweetly as he chases his orgasm, precum filling his mouth with a bitter taste. Youngjo tries in vain to fight the shivers that dance down his spine once Seoho spills in his mouth, telling him to be a good boy, to swallow, to keep his mouth on him, even as his cock softens against his palette. Youngjo does not find anything but the tingles of pleasure, rutting against palm without pause, soiling his own habits with his hot seed, immediately settling into what should have been abject horror at his own actions, but nothing but a hazy comfort blankets him when Seoho doesn’t pull out of his mouth, cock not fully soft yet but still spent.

On his knees now, he finds nothing more comforting than the soft chuckle of Seoho’s voice ringing in the emptiness and the taste of cock in his mouth. He prays for salvation but does not wonder in what sense it may come.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twt [@mechanicharin](https://twitter.com/mechanicharin)  
> ,,,,, if you are also a sinner


End file.
